


There's Something Broken About This

by camisvdos



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Other, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Song: From Eden (Hozier), Tags Are Hard, Tender - Freeform, Tenderness, Velvet Underground - Freeform, Wings, a/c - Freeform, aziraphale - Freeform, crowley - Freeform, good omens - Freeform, ineffable husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-24 23:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20022457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camisvdos/pseuds/camisvdos
Summary: Crowley has been having a hard time sleeping since Aziraphale's discorporation, and the only way to make him feel better is by visiting his angel.





	There's Something Broken About This

**Author's Note:**

> \- The song quoted at the beginning and end of the work is "From Eden" by Hozier, so all credit/rights or whatever go to that brilliant man. 
> 
> \- I haven't decided if I want to add onto this fic, so if it's something you'd be interested in reading more of let me know! (Also I know it's not very long but it's my first fic in years so pls be gentle."
> 
> -Enjoy!

**_"Babe there’s something wretched about this._ **

**_Something so precious about this._ **

**_Where to begin?"_ **

_What do you know of loss?_

_What do you know of loss, and of emptiness? Tell me of dark, damp caverns in your chest. Vacant, and hollow. Tell me of words never said. Of hands never held. How much longer can I endure this? Does it stop? Does it end?_

_It doesn’t, angel. It doesn’t._

Crowley knew all too well of loss. He hadn’t slept once since Armageddon Wasn’t. Sure, he didn’t need sleep to survive: angels and demons could live quite easily without it. But over the centuries of existing on Earth—presumably out of sheer boredom— he had grown quite accustomed to it. Only now, he couldn’t bear to close his eyes and remember. 

_Crimson. Burning. The scent of charred wood and scorching leather._

Despite all this, he kept trying. He missed sleeping, and he needed things to go back to normal. That blasted body of his was utterly _exhausted._

Before the fire*, he’d never really dreamed. It wasn’t something demons did when they slept. And now he dreams every time (though they aren’t so much dreams as they are nightmares). He wished he didn’t.

Crowley awoke very suddenly, his face quite damp. It was unclear whether or not from sweat or tears. (It appeared to be both). 

“Aziraphale!” He screamed, jolting upright in his bed. His heart was banging on the inside of his chest, his breathing fast and heavy. He took a moment to look around the room and ground himself. He was home, and he was safe. Crowley stepped out from under the covers and threw his usual attire on. It was the middle of the night, judging by the lack of light creeping into his window. According to the small analog clock perched on his bedside table, it was nearly 4:30AM. That didn't matter much to him at the moment. Nothing mattered really, except knowing whether or not his angel was okay.

Crowley stepped outside his flat and made his way to the Bentley, locking the door behind him with a wave of his hand. He sat down in the driver’s seat and closed the door, taking a moment to breathe.

_Dust. Debris. Sweltering heat. Aziraphale?_

He shook his head as if shaking the memories from his mind. Lou Reed’s voice hummed through the speaker as he made his way to the bookshop. He tried to focus on this instead. Crowley had made a note to remove this particular CD from his car every other week so it wouldn’t end up as Best of Queen like the rest of his CD’s he never cared to remove. He smiled to himself.

“Bebop.” he chuckled adoringly. 

It took only a few minutes to arrive at the bookshop (in part because he lived rather close, but also because he was driving upwards of 90 miles per hour). Upon pulling up, he could see dim light through the shades which meant Aziraphale was still awake. (Of course, there wasn’t much speculation that he _wouldn’t_ be awake, as angels and demons don’t sleep, and Aziraphale had never felt the need unlike Crowley.) Crowley breathed a sigh of relief, and got our of the car. He stepped up to the bookshop and stared toward the door, tears welling up in his eyes. He could taste ash on his tongue ashe tried to shake the memories away again. It didn't quite work this time around. He felt _empty._

The knock was a little too demanding, he thought, but he didn't dwell on it. He _needed_ to see him. He heard the soft patter of the angels footsteps, and then the key turned and the door creaked open slowly. 

“Crowley, dear,” Aziraphale recognized and relaxed a bit. “You’re here quite early.” He noticed the tears welling up in Crowley’s eyes and his smile faded. “What happened? Please dear, come in.” He moved slightly and motioned the demon inside. 

Not even a step through the door Crowley knew he couldn’t hold it together. His skin burned. He felt the smoke creep up and fill his lungs. Aziraphale closed the door behind him. As he turned, Crowley collapsed into him, overcome with grief. Aziraphale’s eyes were wide and his stomach dropped. He caught his friend and eased him onto his knees, holding his head against his chest.

“Talk to me, my dear. You’re scaring me.”

“ _I’m_ scaring _you_?” Crowley sobbed. He looked up at Aziraphale, eyes puffy and tired and in terrible despair. “I thought you were dead, angel." The word 'dead' was sharp as broken glass. It tore right into Aziraphale. "I thought I'd lost you _forever_. Do you know how that feels? Six thousand years and then _nothing_." He choked and let his head fall. Aziraphale closed his eyes and fought away tears. He should’ve known it was the nightmares again.

“I’m so terribly sorry, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s heart fell into his words. “I’m here now. “I’m alive, and I’m safe. _We’re_ safe.” He held him tighter, as if was his last chance to do so. He could not begin to imagine what losing Crowley would do to him. He ached for him, and before he realized what he was doing, he stretched his wings protectively around the pair. The night would come to an end, and the sun would rise, but for the time it was just the two of them–separated from the world outside. 

“I’m here.” Aziraphale whispered again softly, brushing his fingers through the demons hair. “I’m not going anywhere. Not now–not ever.” Crowley pulled back and wiped his face. He stared up at the angel, whose wings were still encircling them. 

_What do you know of loss and of emptiness? Pain? Fear?_

_Too much, angel. Too much_. 

“Promise me, angel.” He managed, trying desperately to regain some ounce of composure. 

“I promise.” 

**_"Babe, there’s something so lonesome about you,_ **

**_Something so wholesome about you._ **

**_Get closer to me."_ **


End file.
